In our weekly spot where we chat about mental health, Sarah’s sending a message to her younger self. And it’s a short one.
In 2018 I stumbled across a writing project aimed at celebrating the 100th anniversary of the women’s suffrage movement achieving a notable win, in the UK.
Each day, for 100 days, amazing women were able to tell a story about a significant time in their life; from childhood days, to becoming parents, dream job opportunities, and more. I read so many of these stories and was fascinated by the women behind them.
One jumped out at me, in particular. It was a piece written by Manchester based writer Alex Keelan, in which she wrote a letter of reassurance, empathy, and hope to her teenage self.
Ever since then I have been drawn to the idea of writing a letter to my past self. And the idea hasn’t always been mine; it was raised as part of my CBT journey in 2023, and as someone who journals it has been suggested to help deal with my past, my present, and my future.
But what would I say? There are many things that could be said, about so many elements of the last 41 years. Where do I start?
In need of inspiration, I’ve read Alex Keelan’s letter many times. I have read many other versions that are available online. And the number of notes strewn around me show I have no shortage of ideas.
There is one thing I want to say to myself, more than anything else, though. The one thing that returns, again and again. And again.
Dear Sarah,
I am sorry.
That’s it.
So, what am I sorry about?
Not everything in my life that has happened to me has been because of my decisions or actions. Not everything I have suffered was within my control. Not everything I feel is any different to what anyone else may feel. That was accepted a long time ago.
I don’t apologise for any of that.
Instead, I apologise for how I spoke to myself. All other people aside, I can’t deny that I have been one of my own bullies, in life.
Sorry for the way I didn’t practice self-care sooner or reach out for support that could have helped before it was too late. Sorry for putting roadblocks in my own way and then wondering why I couldn’t move forward. Sorry for all the times I convinced myself I deserved only bad things ‘because I wasn’t worth anything good’. Sorry for not allowing myself to trust my own instincts or act on patterns of behaviour that I was able to see.
Life didn’t work out how I expected it to – I am chronically single and will never be the mother I dreamed of being. It is sad, but it is beyond my control. I can’t force people to have romantic feelings for me or force my body to produce an entirely new person it isn’t capable of carrying.
But I am sorrier about the fact that I spent all those years beating myself up and suffering in silence about how lonely I am, and how I didn’t speak out about my (now failed) pregnancies when I learned of them.
Maybe I can write a letter – or fifty – to my past and future self. It seems like it could be rather cathartic, if I do it right.
But mainly what it boils down to is three words; I am sorry.
I am sorry I was my own worst enemy when all I needed was to be my friend.
Why are we so bad at loving ourselves?
What would you like to say to your younger self, if given the opportunity?
